Taking Care of Your Idiot
by dr-canis-horriblus
Summary: When Barney wakes up the morning after a night of drinking with the flu, Robin is forced to take care of him, something that she has never done before and sure doesn't want to start doing now. Sort of Swarkles fluff.


Robin awoke and glanced over at Barney, who was sound asleep on the bed next to her and practically unconscious. His mouth was open and snored today just slightly, something that she hadn't noticed him ever doing before. His arms were spread out on both sides, and next to him was the empty bottle of what had been…something alcoholic, either wine or maybe even a stronger cocktail.

_That's right_, Robin thought to herself, beginning to recall the thoughts of the previous night. _We just may have partied a little bit too hard_… She sat up on the bed, a splittingly painful headache starting to blossom the moment she did so. The last thing she remembered from the previous night was betting Barney that she could take…how many shots was it? Thirteen? Fourteen? However many, it was a lot, and he in turn bet her that he could do double that amount. They each accepted the challenge, tried to outdo each other, and began downing shots from there. Then, at some point, blackout, but at least they were back in their bedroom the next morning, meaning that someone had been considerate enough to call them a cab. And on the plus side, there was no pineapple this time.

She wondered for a minute if she should wake Barney up or not, before concluding that he probably had a hangover far worse than she did and that she should just let him sleep. Or, she thought, I could wake him up and we could suffer together? A devious smile crossed her face, and she nudged him with her finger, gently at first, then prodding, then tapping. "Hey. Yo, sleepy drunky. Wake up." He didn't wake up. He didn't even flinch. He just kept snoring. A severe hangover, just like last time, Robin assumed.

"Man, you look like one of those dudes in a Nyquil ad," she commented, halfway to him and halfway to herself. She crawled to the bottom of the bed, and since his shoes were still on, she proceeded to carefully- or lack thereof- remove each one, hoping that alone would get him up. When it didn't, she flung the shoes individually at his head, which finally did it. "Wha..?" he responded dazedly, lifting his head off of the bed. "Oh hey Robin, it's you." He stifled a yawn as he slowly began to feel more awake. "What did we do this time?" She shrugged. "I think we took some shots and passed out. I don't know. The norm." "Yeah, it seems right," Barney agreed, still sleepy. "Day in the life, huh?" He smiled, and she did too. Having just woken up, he certainly looked endearing, hair a little scruffy, slightly gross and a little unkempt, but still endearing nonetheless.

"Come here, Barfy, " she teased, pulling his head up closer to hers and kissing him, which lasted for all about one second before he sneezed in her face. Robin backed off, more than a little grossed out by the abrupt spray. "Y'know, I'm starting to feel like Barfy really is an appropriate nickname," she commented, wiping herself off. "Are you sick?" He wiped his nose and shook his head. "Nah, I'm not sick. Just probably part of the hangover, y'know, maybe kinda an upper respiratory infectch, nothin' I couldn't shake off." He smiled proudly, before sneezing again. "Okay, yeah, I am sick," he admitted. "But it's probably just a 24 hour virus, right? I mean, by tomorrow, it'll all be over."

_**(Tomorrow) **_

"Robin, it's not over." Barney was sitting on the couch next to Robin, and all day, he seemed to be getting progressively sicker. He was congested, and he was weakly collapsed there, not willing or wanting to move a muscle. "My throat is on fire, I've gone deaf in one ear, and I've sneezed on you about four times in the last night. This isn't right- I'm Barney Stinson, when do I ever-" he paused. "Hang on, I gotta sneeze." Then, a few minutes later, "Great, I lost it."

Robin finished folding her laundry, and looked over at Barney, who was pitifully laying next to her.

"Well, if you need anything, I'm here. Back in Canada, I was raised with expert medical care, in fact, I once had to remove-"

"A stick from someone's eye, you've told me this about 83 times," Barney cut in resolvedly. For as long as he'd known Robin, the one thing that stood out to him in particular were her 'back in Canada' stories, and up to this point, she'd told him dozens of them. He had to admit that they were sort of interesting for a while, but she'd retold them so many times now that they weren't any more.

"The point is, I have had so many encounters with impaled stomachs and knocked out teeth that I should honestly have a medical degree," Robin told him.

She stared at Barney. His forehead was moist; clearly he was sweating from a fever. And the thick, heavy suit he was in sure wasn't helping that. "We're getting you redressed," she announced. "Come on." She tugged at his arm, but he just looked up at her with big, blue, puppy-dog eyes. "Too…weak..to get up." Without saying anything else, Robin grabbed Barney under both arms, pulling him up, then dragging him to his room. She dumped him on the bed, and he didn't protest it one bit. From there, she sorted through his drawers until she was able to locate his favorite grey t-shirt. She then helped him get dressed out of his suit and into his shirt and some sweatpants, though he tried very hard to resist that before giving up. Robin relocated him to the couch and blanketed him up with a throw that, awhile ago, had been stolen from Ted (The stamp on the tag read "Property of Ted Mosby").

"Better," were the only words Barney croaked out, playing dramatics as usual. A few minutes later, he added, "Btw, I appreciate your help, but I really don't need it, honestly. I can take care of myself just fine, thanks a lot."

She crossed her arms. "Oh, sure you can. Right, because you didn't just puke all over me on the way out here. Of course, you're doing great." As it was, Barney was pushing the boundaries with Robin. She wasn't a caring, motherly, comforting person by nature, and with him being so sick, she was now forced to be that.

"Okay, I'm gonna go change my shirt," she informed him. "And when I come back, you, yes you, snotty little barf bag, had better still be here, capiche?" Barney nodded weakly, watching as Robin left for the other room. She returned not at all long after, in a more casual shirt, prepared of the likelihood that Barney could vomit on it all over again and not wanting to ruin another top.

"Can you make me some soup?" he asked tiredly, looking like a fevered little child as he lay there, blanketed on the couch. "What, just so you can puke it up again?" she responded teasingly. "No way."

"Please?" Barney pleaded, and he looked so irresistably cute that Robin could not refuse him anything. "Oh, alright," she said, heading in the direction of the kitchen.

"But not from a can," Barney added. "Like home made."

Robin stopped and just sort of stood there for a minute. Obviously Barney had forgotten one very important thing- she didn't like to do 'like home made.' She never cooked, period. As a matter of fact, it was a struggle for her to even prepare hot dogs decently.

Barney then continued. "My mom has the recipe, just call her up. I know you don't usually, like, prepare food, but it's super easy…" His voice trailed off and his eyes closed, and he fell directly asleep, now leaving Robin with a certain inner conflict. She wasn't ready to call Loretta up for a soup recipe that she could probably do herself, that was for certain. Yet she didn't want to mess up the soup either- if Barney was going to get anything down, even for a little while, he should definitely enjoy it. So, after some thinking, Robin only had one thing to do- improvise.

It didn't take very long, and she thought she truly nailed it. _First time guessing at a soup recipe, and I did awesome!_ she thought to herself as she switched off the burner. _Self five!_ She brought the steaming bowl out to Barney, who was curled up holding a tissue box on the couch. Setting it down on the table in front of him, she gently tapped him on the shoulder.

"Psst! Barfy!" she whispered. "Barney!"

He opened his eyes slowly, and she held out the bowl of soup. Immediately, as he became conscious, his face lit up with glee.

"Now, before you say anything, I want you to know that I did NOT call your mom," Robin informed him, and his face fell. "However, I am willing to bet that I made this stuff just as awesomely as she does. Because I've tasted it, and it is indeed legendary."

Barney took a spoonful, then tasted it thoroughly. His eyes widened.

"Well?" Robin asked, watching his reaction.

"Robin..this is.." He paused for a very long time. "Like..really near being the best soup ever! You actually did a really good job, which surprises me totally." He smiled. "You knew the sacred Stinson soup recipe without even knowing it, and that's…that's something to be proud of. Thanks for making it."

She too smiled. "Oh, please," she scoffed. "It wasn't a big deal, I basically just threw together a bunch of stuff and hoped it'd come out okay. And hey, chances are, if your mom can make something decently, I can make it at least 500% better. I mean, do you not remember that whole scrambled egg thing?"

Barney nodded, reflecting on the memory. "You're actually right this time in insulting my mom. Thanks." Coming from Barney, who, most of the time, was very proud of his family, Robin knew that this was truly a compliment. "I really am I guess. And I'm lucky to have that privilege."

"Yeah you are." She shook her head, smiling. "You're a really nice idiot. Probably the nicest one I've ever found."

"As so are you…idiot." Before she could stop him, he leaned in, kissing her directly on the lips. Which wouldn't have been a problem- except for the fact that he was still highly contagious.

(_Three and a half days later_) Robin had just fallen asleep on the couch, tissues strewn around the floor, when Barney approached her. He put the bowl of soup on the coffee table, then attempted to wake her up by tapping on her shoulder repeatedly.

"Yo, Scherbats-pukey. Get up. Now." Since she wouldn't wake up, he not so gently tugged on her hair, which did the trick immediately. "What?" she responded tiredly, still mostly asleep, sitting up. He held up the bowl, and with a certain childlike innocence in his voice, told her, "I made this."

She smiled weakly, taking it from him. She ate a few spoonfuls of it, and there was no arguing in the fact that it was truly delicious, even if it didn't cure anything. "Well?" She wiped her mouth off with a napkin.

"I love it."

"Yeah, duh."

"But I make it better."

"What?!"

Robin simply nodded. "Yeah. Really. My recipe's better."

"Nuh-uh! It's not!" Barney started to argue, before realizing that there was no point. "Y'know what? Fine. I'm not even gonna argue this, you're sick, you win this round. Tonight. Even though it is my recipe. Even though you know I prepare it better." He quickly licked his lips. "I prepare it better, Barney wins once again!"

Robin put the bowl back down. "Well, even if you didn't, there's still another thing to think about. You've got some pretty sick hospitality, honestly. These last few days, I gotta say, you've made an awesome doctor, so..I can't hold this back anymore. Barney Stinson, you are an honorary Scherbatsky. Congratulations."

He didn't respond for a few minutes, but then, with a sarcastic eye roll, he said, "Lame."

Robin shook her head. "You're one- quarter Canadian. Politeness runs through your blood, and that you can't dispute."

"Yeah, but one- quarter Canadian doesn't mean I have to be one-quarter lame. Although.."

Though she wasn't particularly strong tonight, Robin summoned the strength to hit Barney on the arm, not lightly by any means but certainly not hard either. And for the rest of the night, they joked and argued about this, only teasingly so, but it was still quite fun. By the end of the night, both were exhausted, and they both ended up asleep on the couch together. Neither of them liked taking care of the other when they were sick, but it was really just something that had to be done, each time with a fair share of typical teasing. As the years passed, there was something in particular that never did happen- the recipe for the soup was never, ever revealed. It just never would be, and that was part of the fun. The recipe was simply a guessing game each time, and even though Robin never admitted it, in her mind, she knew that Barney's would just always be better. True story.


End file.
